Yesteryear
by tere moto the sentry
Summary: Six years have passed, and yet Dib finds he has not grown any older. What has Membrane been hiding from him? And what does Zim have to do with it?
1. Intention

Author's Note: I do understand this fic is not of my usual style…Also, the whole thing can be read as one story, or chapters can be read as one-shots.

**Yesteryear: Intention**

"I…I don't understand!"

"I know, son; but you _must_ trust me on this."

"Can't you just tell me what's wrong with me?" the bespectacled eyes of the teen looked almost panicked. "Please, Dad, I…I'm scared."

"Nothing is wrong with you son," the older man took the younger one's face in his hand, a gesture Dib did not ever remember him making. "You are just very different, Dib, very special. And I feel he can say it better than I can."

"Dad, come _on!_ You want _Zim_ to tell me? I'd much rather hear it from you—and wake up, Dad! Don't you know he's an—" Dib was unable to finish when he saw the most peculiar look on his father's face.

"I…I…I know, son."

Dib stared in disbelief. "You—You what? You know…?"

"I can't say I blame you for not giving your old man enough credit," Professor Membrane admitted, "I have always been more than mundane. But yes, I am indeed fairly versed in knowledge of the Irkens."

"But why? Why…Why would you hide that from me?" Dib's eyes began to burn, "Why would you act like I'm insane; like you could never possibly believe me?" He was shouting now. "Who _really_ is the insane one?"

Never, in all his sixteen years of life, had the boy seen his father look ashamed. The world-renowned Professor Membrane _never_ looked ashamed.

"I was wrong to say all of that," the professor admitted apologetically, "I just didn't know how to act in situation like this—"

"A situation like _what?_ You won't tell me what's going on!" Dib fought back tears. "Dad, why am I sixteen and haven't grown in six years? How come all of my favorite foods are making me sick now? I wanna hear it from _you!_"

"I…don't know how to put it," his dad told him despondently, "But you'll be in good hands…"

"They're _Zim's_ hands!" Dib allowed the tears to spill forth, "_How could you, Dad?_" So saying, he stormed out of the lab.

Professor Membrane had never considered himself a religious man, but now, he prayed his hardest that Dib would still call him "Dad" once this ordeal was over.


	2. Home

**Yesteryear: Home**

"Turn in soon, Dib-monkey," Zim instructed, approaching the boy. "My computer's predicting a dust storm tonight."

Dib nodded—rather awkwardly, as he was lying on his back. "I'm spending as much time as I can outside of your cramped little Poot Runner."

"_Voot_ Runner," the Irken corrected forcefully, "And what _are_ you doing?"

"Looking at the stars," the boy answered simply.

"Why…?"

"Because…they're…fascinating?" Dib turned to him. "Don't _you_ ever look at the stars?"

"No," Zim said, "I've _flown_ through them plenty of times."

The human smiled a little. "For once I envy you, Zim."

His companion scoffed. "Not that much to see up there."

"Of course there is," Dib gazed again, longingly, into the sky. "Especially since…Earth's out there."

"Ohhh," the alien rolled his eyes. "Of course it is." He followed the boy's gaze to the misty, blue-and-green planet and snorted. "I'm glad to finally get away from that filth-ball for some time."

"Why _are_ we here?" Dib looked again at him, sitting up. "All this time no one's told me. It's not like I don't have plenty of mystery in my life lately already."

Zim did not make eye contact or even look away from Earth, and he took the longest time before answering.

"You will know in good time, Dib-creature."

The child opened his mouth to ask something more, but seeing the look on Zim's face, let the matter drop. He turned back to the stars, and after a minute another thought came to him.

"…Zim?"

"Heh?"

"Do you ever get…" he inhaled. "…homesick?"

"Eh?"

"You know, homesick," Dib sat up and made eye contact. "That is, do you ever miss your home and wish you were there again?"

Zim looked rather confused. "Why would I miss that earthly hovel of mine—amazing as it is—when it's on such a pitiful planet?"

The human shook his head. "No, I meant…" He looked to the cosmos again, this time gazing far from Earth. "I meant Irk. Do you ever miss Irk?"

The alien's antennae flicked, but only for an instant.

"No," he said in a most unusual tone. "No, no, I miss my _job;_ that's what I miss. This little excursion wasn't exactly in my plans until I found—er…Anyway, as amazing and superior a planet as it is, no, I do not miss Irk. I'm an invader, and an invader's place—" He turned to the Voot Runner. "—is in the stars."

He began walking towards the Voot to prepare for the next day. But he stopped short, and without turning to see if Dib was looking, pointed to the sky in a much different direction.

"And you're looking the wrong way. Irk's out _there._"

Author's Note: I think that last part was inspired by a one-shot I once read.


	3. Distance

**Yesteryear: Distance**

A quiet afternoon. The only sound in the entire house was the shutting of the fridge door and the _pop_ of a soda can opening. A tall, lean Gaz dragged her feet to the kitchen table and sat down, slumping in boredom. She would in this situation be playing her Gameslave, but she had been doing so for most of the past six hours, and it was giving her a headache—something it oddly never did when she was eight. So now she had nothing to do but sit and sip a soda. Which to her aggravation only worsened that headache, now that she was fourteen. She had never been in any hurry to grow up, though one of the few benefits was that she had now far passed her brother in height. Gaz was now all of five-foot-seven, and Dib had not grown an inch since age ten. It was indeed odd for a sixteen-year-old male, but Gaz never did bother herself with any thoughts pertaining to him.

What to do, what to do? Well, when she was not playing a videogame she often did like to draw—she now wondered if she had kept her old crayons. She trudged out of the kitchen and was about to cross the living room when she realized the couch had a new occupant. Giggling contently at the TV as if he were in his own house was—

"Gir?"

The small robot looked up with a childish smile. "Hey, Gazzy! I was hopin' you was home!" He leapt from the sofa to regard her more closely.

"You got big!" he exclaimed.

"That's more than can be said for you," she replied. "Now get out."

"Why didn't Dibby get big?" he asked as if she had not commanded him to leave.

"I don't know," Gaz sighed. "Why are you here?"

"My master's not home," Gir shook his head sadly, "and my pig's not home, my moose ain't home, and The Angry Monkey Show's not on!" He had brought himself to tears. After whimpering for a moment, he smiled up at the human. "Will you play with me?"

Without answering, Gaz crossed the room and headed upstairs. She let out a cry of surprise when she felt the android latch forcefully onto her head.

"What we gonna do first?" Gir squealed.

"_I'm_ going to draw a pig," she told him testily.

"Ooooooh, I wanna help!" he clapped with joy. "I draw _real good pigs._"

Gaz glared in mounting agitation. "When _will_ Zim be back?"

Gir only shrugged.

"Well, where did he go?"

Gir pointed upwards. "He took Dib to space for that _secret_-thingy."

"Oh…" Gaz remembered, leaving the staircase. "Right." She returned to the living room and flopped down on the couch.

"How would ya forget somethin' like that?" Gir followed her, and sat beside. "Even _I_ 'membered that."

"Eh," the girl shrugged and began channel surfing. "I don't keep track of _anything_ that has to do with my brother."

"You never too happy with him, are ya?" the Irken noticed aloud.

"No," she eyed him darkly. "His _existence_ irritates me." When Gir only looked at her, she turned her attention back to the TV.

"Why?"

She glared at him crossly. "Because…he's _annoying._"

Gir looked away in thought. "Y'know…I sometimes annoy Master, and he gets real mad at me. But at the end of the day we is still family, 'cuz he sits on the couch with me and shares his snacks and tells me about his long day. And then we just sit and watch TV together…" The little robot scooted closer to the human, "…'cuz we loves each other." He leaned in towards her as if to cuddle. Gaz raised a hand, but dropped it. He was not really hurting anything. She shrugged and began watching The Agitated Chimp Show.

"So how did you get in here, anyway?" she asked, glancing his way.

Gir only murmured an answer, but Gaz caught the open window out of the corner of her eye.


	4. Specimen

**Yesteryear: Specimen**

"Pressure's subsided, Professor," a scientist turned from his chemistry table.

"Ah, well I wish the same would happen with my headache," his colleague and employer flipped his welder's mask back down and continued to bond several metal sheets together.

"Perhaps you should stop welding, sir?" Simmons suggested. "Bright lights probably aggravate your headache."

No, no, you know this thing must be done tonight," Membrane reminded him. "Though granted I'll need to invent Superaspirin later."

"So, not to be nosy, but how did it go with your son?"

Membrane stopped abruptly. "It went…The situation is well under control." Simmons raised a brow. His boss' tone was shaky, unsure; not at all like his usual bold tone, which he had been using until the subject of that "situation" was brought up.

The assistant remembered a morning a matter of days ago in which the usually determined professor had sluggishly dragged himself into work (much to the shock of his colleagues). Listlessly, he had briefed the faculty on the day's agenda, but several were worried that he seemed so distant, as if it did not matter to him at all whether the day's work was completed. He stayed detached from the other scientists all morning, and in their brief lunch period Membrane said something strange to Simmons. Something so…_profound._

"_Simmons, how far should we go in the name of science?"_

_Simmons did not know what to think. Normally Professor Membrane's own answer to that would be "As far as it takes!"_

"…_Sir…?"_

_Behind his boss' goggles, behind the high lab coat collar, Simmons could see a very preoccupied, very troubled expression._

"_Should we…lie to those we love? For the sake of science?"_

"_I'm sorry, sir; what are you talking about?"_

_Membrane did not answer, but continued the conversation as if talking to himself. "But…but maybe I didn't lie to protect the experiment…Did I perhaps lie to protect _him?_"_

_Simmons opted to say nothing, as the professor seemed to be lost in thought. Membrane then said one more thing out loud that day._

"_I wonder…I wonder just how much I've treated him as a specimen."_

Drawing his reflection to a close, Simmons now began to contemplate how his employer's expression that day matched that of today. He seemed to be giving all of the necessary focus to his welding, but the assistant had to wonder how focused he had been on choosing the chemistry lab as a location.

"Professor?"

The addressed halted his welding momentarily and looked up. "Yes?"

"There aren't any…flammable chemicals or substances in here, are there?"

"Did you eat any of Dr. Chlorophyll's brownies?"

"No."

"Then we're good."


	5. Legacy

**Yesteryear: Legacy**

"Hey! Hey, Red! Red! You gonna share those? Huh? Huh? Huh?"

The nagging, as well as the poking on the shoulder, were purposefully ignored as the addressed Irken scrolled intently through numerous computer files and mumbled (perhaps to himself; perhaps to his persistent co-ruler) through mouthfuls of donuts.

"Aw, c'mon, Red! I just want a few! Please? _Huh? Huuuhhh?_"

"Shut it, Pur!" Tallest Red raised his voice. "I'm looking through something important!"

"Whatcha readin'? Huh? Hu—" Red cut him short with a glare. Purple was then answered with a gesture to the monitor.

"Read this."

"'Irken Genetics Research Labs: Project Archaic Irken Reproduction: Experiment GX3-7822-34Z7. On this date (17/53/3704) the project's first subject was selected. Smeet Z78355-I7613-M3492; aged 21 years, 10 weeks, 3 days; shall have a DNA sample extracted for use in the current experiment. With any luck, we will have a resulting specimen by—' Booorriing!" Tallest Purple floated away from the computer to pout.

"Pay attention, you idiot," Red snapped, "Do you realize what this is saying?" When his co-Tallest grunted in reply, he pointed a spidery finger at the first paragraph.

"Look. Smeet—'Adult Irken' now—Z78355-I7613-M3492…Do you realize who that is?"

Purple gave him a blank look. "Who…cares?"

"Zim, Purple…It's Zim."

"And…who cares about Zim's business?"

"He was used in Project AIR! Don't you remember that project from Tallest Praline's reign?"

"Who cares? It was before our time."

"Apparently it continued into our time," Red skimmed through the entry, mumbling key points to himself. "This smeet's DNA…incubation…possibly mixed with other DNA…second smeet will be chosen at random…probably same generation…T09782-A6135-K5493…"

"Why was Zim so special?" Purple dug into an inexplicably present bag of cheese puffs.

"The 'participants' were randomly chosen," Red reminded, "though that doesn't make much sense to me. They could have chosen someone taller—not to mention better-looking, like us—er, me."

Purple ignored the comment and busied himself in shoveling Red's donuts into his own mouth.

"So," Red said more to himself, staring at the screen, "if the resulting specimen survived, do you know what that means?"

Something audibly clicked in Tallest Purple's mind. "There…There's another _Zim_ running around?"

Tallest Red miserably held his head in one three-fingered hand. His co-ruler dropped the now-empty donut bag and thought long and hard.

"This calls for curly fries."


	6. Paternity

**Yesteryear: Paternity**

"Earth sti—er…Dib, it's time."

Dib affixed his glasses onto his face and Zim came into view. The boy sat up and stretched—making do with what little room there was in the Voot Runner. He took a good look around, and realized that he and the Irken were no longer on Luna, but flying through an unrecognized star field.

"Where are we?" he asked, glancing through all sides of the windshield.

"It's time, Dib."

The human met his enemy's eyes, which then returned to the space ahead. "It's…finally time? You're going to tell me what's going on?"

Zim brought the Voot to a halt, but did not turn to him. "Yes…"—here he inhaled slowly and deeply—"…yes I am. And I brought you here because I thought that for the occasion you might like to see…home."

Surprised, Dib looked outside again, expecting to see Earth in front of them. But instead, he beheld a strange, distraught-looking planet that seemed cold, empty, torn by war…

"…Irk?"

Zim nodded, his gaze still affixed on the world below.

"Um, Zim…this is your home."

Zim did not answer, and paused before speaking. "I cannot hunt you down any longer, Dib. I will return to my mission when this is over, and as long as you stay out of my way, you will not be harmed. I will even try to have you spared when the Armada arrives to Earth."

Dib had certainly no intention whatsoever of abandoning his mission, but he had to wonder why Zim was acting so strangely about this.

"Zim, why would you—? What's happening here?"

The alien shot a frustrated glare at him. "This is hard enough on me already, so why don't you just put things together?" He opened a fist and began to list symptoms on his fingers. "You're aging much more slowly; your beloved disgusting Earth foods now physically sicken you, you're losing the need to sleep—do the math!"

Dib stared in sudden bewilderment and disbelief. "You're not trying to say—You don't mean—Zim? _Zim?_"

"Your…" Zim's voice dropped. "Your genetic guise is failing."

"…What…?"

"Membrane genetically altered you as a smeet," Zim told him, as all background noise seemed to vanish. "It would be easier to physically care for you, as well as hide you from suspecting eyes, if you were human."

Dib's gaze fell on the ground, and he almost did not feel his next words coming out. "No. No, this isn't right. You mean to say I'm…?"

"Irken," Zim finished and confirmed.

"But…" the boy looked back up at the man, "…why are you acting like this around me? It can't be that you have a problem with fighting with one of your own kind, because you were fine with fighting Tak and—"

"The DNA used to make you was chosen from a forced participant," Zim interrupted.

The human/Irken only stared at the full Irken, at the bizarre expression on his face. "…Zim…?"

The addressed was unable, somehow, to meet his eyes. "Biologically," he took a long shuddering breath, "I am what you humans would call…your father."

Dib could do nothing at that moment but stare blankly. He felt something was terribly wrong. In the expanse of all space and time, he felt he should be, at this moment, in most any other place, in most any other time.

Zim put the Voot Runner in "Drive" and turned around, away from Irk, and began to head back the way they came. "Mind you," he said in a quivering voice, "this does nothing to change our relationship."

Dib only nodded—not that Zim was looking—but deep down, he greatly wished it would.

End


End file.
